


Sewing Lessons

by illogicalbroccoli



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Elim Garak is your favourite gay uncle, Gen, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Teenage Molly O'Brien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27895882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illogicalbroccoli/pseuds/illogicalbroccoli
Summary: Elim Garak pays a visit to his old friends the O'Briens on Earth, and Molly has questions for her "Uncle Garak."
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30





	Sewing Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> This was a long time in the making. Special thanks needs to go to apolesen for betaing and very helpful comments. Particularly explaining how sewing machines actually work.

“Ambassador Garak!”

Miles paused briefly at the sound of his wife’s voice, and then resumed chopping the peppers. In the other room, he could hear Keiko welcoming their guest into their house.

“Professor O’Brien,” came the smooth-toned reply.

“Miles is in the kitchen. I’m sure he’ll be out in a second.”

Yes, he supposed he would be. He had not been entirely relishing this visit. He had tried to tell himself that he was fine with the Cardassian ambassador. True, the Cardassians had done some pretty bad things, in the Border Wars and the Dominion War and the cold war in between. But that was under the old regimes. From everything Julian and Kira told them, the new government truly had no interest in the kind of imperial expansion that had driven the Central Command and the Dukat dictatorship. It was also true that he and Elim Garak had not always gotten on personally, but they had put that behind them. All right, so the man had tried to kill him once, but he hadn’t been himself now, had he? So everything was OK. Of course it was.

Miles realized that the voices from the foyer had gone quiet. Apparently, some contribution from him was expected.

“I’ll be right out!” he shouted.

That seemed to be what was called for. Keiko asked Garak how his trip had been, and he had launched into an exquisitely sarcastic description of the vagaries of travel on a Tellarite passenger-liner. Miles grabbed an onion from the pantry and began to peel off the skin.

“Still, it was positively palatial compared to the _Defiant_?”

Miles dropped the onion at the closeness of the voice. Garak stood in the kitchen doorway, Keiko just behind him.

Miles knew he had no real reason to feel angry. There wasn’t actually any social rule against Garak coming into the kitchen, and even if there were, he couldn’t necessarily expect a Cardassian to be aware of it. But it still felt vaguely intrusive, like Garak had pushed into an intimate space. Miles didn’t even particularly like having Keiko in the kitchen when he was cooking, and now for Garak to wander in without a by-your-leave…

Some of Miles’ thoughts may have shown on his face, or maybe he had once again waited too long to respond, because he saw Keiko stand on tiptoes to look at him over Garak’s shoulder and mouth _be good._

“Hello, Garak,” he said.

“Professor O’Brien!” came the exuberant response. “Oh dear, this is going to be awkward. How shall we differentiate?”

“Just call me Miles,” Miles said.

“Well, if you insist,” said Garak.

There was another silence. Miles reached down to the counter and put the dropped onion back on the cutting-board. Garak continued to stand in the doorway, head cocked to one side, a bright smile on his face.

“Let’s sit down a bit,” said Keiko.

“Good idea,” Miles said. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“I’m sure dinner can wait a few minutes,” Keiko continued. “Garak, come take a seat.”

It wasn’t that Garak sprawled. He sat comfortably but decorously, one arm over the sofa-back. But somehow he still seemed to have made himself more at home than seemed quite right.

“Your house is beautiful,” Garak said. “And I particularly commend the garden. You know I– ”

 _Was a gardener on Romulus_ , Miles mentally finished. _When you murdered a Romulan Senator._

“ –have a garden at my house back on Cardassia.”

Miles looked down the carpet.

“That is, I had one. I hope that it is still there when I return – Kelas is not, shall we say, horticultural.”

Miles looked up.

“Kelas?” he said.

“Oh dear, I would have imagined our mutual friend would have mentioned it to you. Or are you and Doctor Bashir not in touch these days? Kelas Parmak is my very dear friend. We share a house on Cardassia.”

There was a silence as both Miles and Keiko weighed the questions they could ask, wondered what they should say. Garak rescued them both.

“Of course, our garden is far less lush than yours; the conditions in our capital – on all of our planet, really – hardly allow for anything like what you can manage on Earth.”

For just a moment, it seemed to Miles, the mask slipped. Garak’s cultured smile faltered for just a second, and in the Cardassian’s eyes there was a flash of an unspeakable sadness. Miles looked over to Keiko, but her eyes were fixed on their guest.

“Of course, if I remember correctly, Professor O’Brien, you are more than familiar with the anxiety of leaving your plants in the care of a less-than-reliable guardian.”

Miles felt himself beginning to blush as both Garak and Keiko looked over at him.

“That was Julian!” he said.

“And who let Julian at the plants?” Keiko asked with a wicked smile.

Miles gave in and smiled ruefully.

“Outnumbered in my own house!” he cried.

They all laughed, and Miles had the feeling that they had all dodged something, though he couldn’t have told you what.

“And how is the next generation of O’Briens?” Garak asked. “Kirayoshi must be, what, six years old by now!”

“Almost seven,” said Miles, gratefully. “I’m sorry he’s not here right now, but the camping trip was planned months in advance, and—”

“Not to worry,” Garak said. “I will be on Earth for some time, and I’m sure that another opportunity will present itself.”

“He’d love to see you again,” Keiko said. “He had such a great time when you were last here.”

“I very much enjoyed his company,” said Garak. “If I recall, he called me ‘ _tokage_ man.’”

“I was mortified!” said Keiko.

“Oh, I’ve been called much worse,” Garak said. “By much less delightful beings.”

To Miles’ horror, Garak looked in his direction and gave the briefest of winks.

“But to tell the truth, it was a great privilege to be able to interact with a child his age. My own opportunities for playing with children have been rather limited.”

And again, a shadow of something mournful seemed briefly to flash over the man’s face. Just as quickly it was gone, and Garak continued

“And Molly? How is your first-born?”

Keiko and Miles exchanged a look.

“Well,” Miles said.

“UNCLE GARAK!”

The shout was accompanied by clattering thuds from the staircase.

“I guess you’ll see for yourself,” Miles muttered.

Their daughter exploded from the staircase in a whirl of knees and elbows, and collided with the half-standing Garak.

“My dear Molly!” Garak replied.

Molly enfolded Garak in a long-limbed hug and then stepped back.

“What do you think?” she said.

Garak turned an appraising eye on Molly’s outfit. Miles bit his cheek. Molly’s feet were encased in a pair of massive boots, with soles at least five centimetres high. Black legging rose from them to a layered black skirt, which hung down twice as far on the right as on the left. Above that, a black t-shirt cold be seen under a purple velvet cape that hung down almost to Moly’s ankles. Her hair was also purple, fading to a hot pink as it descended almost to her waist. Her face was made-up pale, with a hint of silver, and in the centre of her forehead was a loop of blue, tapering just above her nose.

“You have grown much taller,” Garak said.

Molly rolled her eyes.

“Of the clothes!” she said.

Garak scratched his chin, and narrowed his eyes.

“Molly’s been working on it for months,” Keiko. interjected

“My dear Molly, you _made_ this?” Garak said.

“Just the cape,” said Molly, looking down.

“Turn around,” Garak said.

Miles held his breath. He could well remembered Garak acidly deconstructing outfits during his time as a tailor. And while Miles couldn’t say that he was entirely at peace himself with Molly’s new style, if the Cardassian started on Molly’s cape –

“That is splendid,” Garak said.

“Really?” said Molly.

“Oh yes. The seam is slightly awkward here, but that will come with practice. But it is beautifully cut, the fabric is well-chosen, and the colour complements your hair perfectly.”

“The hair is new too,” she said.

“Really?” Garak said. “I could have sworn it’s been purple-and-pink since Deep Space Nine. Didn’t the Prophets grant it to you?”

Molly rolled her eyes again. Miles saw Keiko frown slightly. Of course, Kira was thousands of light-years away, but it was easy to imagine how she’d react to that kind of comment.

“I also could not help but notice your foreheard. Does that represent a _chufa?_ ” Garak said, touching the depression on his own head. “And was that in my honour?”

“No!” Molly said. “It’s just cool. Like, lots of kids are wearing them on Bajor.”

“Really?” Garak said, his eyes sparkling.

“It’s true,” said Keiko. “Kira was telling me about it.”

Ranting about it, more like, Miles thought. Brigadier Kira had not been impressed with this latest form of youthful rebellion.

“She says some kids are even getting their necks tattooed to look like scales,” Keiko continued.

“That is marvellous!” Garak said.

“And you are definitely not doing it,” Miles said.

“Dad!”

“I mean it!” he said. “You may think it’s stylish now, but believe me, these things get old surprisingly fast.”

“Well, I think your ensemble is stunning,” said Garak. “A wonderful fusion of cultures. And wait, is that a Bajoran earring?”

“Temporary dermal bond,” Miles said.

“Nerys offered to pierce Molly’s ear when she was last here,” Keiko added.

“I said no,” said Miles.

“We said no,” said Keiko.

“I still don’t see why not,” Molly said.

Keiko flashed her daughter a we-are-not-doing-this-now look. To Miles’ relief, Molly did not protest.

“So tell me more about the Cardassian fashions on Bajor,” Garak said. “Are they accompanied by an appreciation of Cardassian literature? Am I to imagine Bajoran youth in purple hair and painted _chufa_ _i_ debating the subtleties of the _Never-_ _E_ _nding Sacrifice_?

“Bajorans don’t do the hair,” said Molly. “It’s Terran neogoth”

“Neo-goth?” Garak said. “I believe I have come across the goths. Antagonists of your Romans, weren’t they? Julian once urged me to read _Titus Andronicus,_ ” he added by way of explanation. “I do not recall reading about their cosmetic skills. I must say, it is a sign of great sophistication that they achieved such shades, given what I understand of the technological level of Earth at the time of their _floruit_.”

Molly looked uncertain for a moment, and Miles prepared himself to step in and tell Garak to knock it off.

“You’re teasing me,” Molly said.

“I am,” said Garak, and smiled. Molly smiled back.

“Well,” said Miles. “Dinner isn’t going to make itself.”

The dinner went better than he had feared. Aside from complaining two or three times that Miles had broken his promise never to invite him to dinner, Garak was unexceptionable as a guest. Miles noticed that he spoke a great deal with Molly, who practically glowed as Garak earnestly asked about her favourite school subjects, her hobbies, her friends.

When we ask her these days, Miles thought, we scarcely get more than “fine.”

“And is there a young man or lady who has caught the eye of Miss O’Brien?” Garak was asking.

“Uncle Garak!” Molly shouted, and punched him on the arm.

Uncle Garak. Miles couldn’t remember when she started calling him that. Was it the same time as Uncle Julian, and Auntie Nerys? Now that had been quite the year.

Keiko stepped in to rescue Molly, asking Garak about a particular kind of Cardassian succulent, and the two gardeners chatted happily about root clusters and soil acidity for the rest of the meal

*

After dinner, Garak found himself alone in the O’Briens’ sitting-room. Miles was washing up, Keiko had to take a conference call with a researcher in Vancouver with whom she was co-authoring a paper, and Molly was upstairs finishing her homework. Garak drifted to the bookshelf. There were a number of novels whose covers featured woodensailing-ships being battered by waves or enemy cannon, which Garak guessed belonged to Miles. The reproductions ofancient herbals surely must be Keiko’s.Others he found it more difficult to assign – the volume of Bajoran folk-tales, for example, could have been either O’Brien’s, as could the biography of Ambassador Sarek. He reached for the shelf and plucked a book at random and read the cover.

“What is a yeat?” he asked the empty room, and opened it.

> _Turning and turning in the widening gyre_
> 
> _The falcon cannot hear the falconer;_
> 
> _Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;_
> 
> _Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,_
> 
> _The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere_
> 
> _The ceremony of innocence is drowned_

He snapped the book shut and reshelved it. A bit close to the bone these days, he thought. But he made a mental note to look up the poem at another time.

“Uncle Garak?”

Garak turned to see Molly O’Brien standing in the doorway.

“Good evening Molly,” he said. “Homework done?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Yes,” she said.

“It’s so dumb,” she continued. “Like, I get how to do algebra. I don’t see why we have to do twenty questions. I _get_ it! Was homework this stupid when you were a kid?”

Garak smiled a small smile.

“My education was very unlike yours,” he said. “I did not go to school.”

“Really? How did you learn stuff?”

“My mother taught me. And my father, sometimes. Mostly, though, I simply read. My father’s house had a very large library, and whenever I could I would sneak off there.”

“Your father,” Molly said, and stopped.

“My father, Enabran Tain, head of the Obsidian Order,” Garak said. As Molly’s face fell, he realised he had spoken too sternly. There was no need to be this defensive with a thirteen-year-old child.

“But,” he continued more gently. “You didn’t come in here to talk about my less-than-ideal childhood. Did you want something?”

Molly took a deep breath.

“You said the seam on my cloak was crooked,” she said.

Not for the first time, Garak cursed the swiftness with which his thoughts sometimes flew to his mouth.

“Only very slightly” he said. “Likely only a professional like myself would notice. Really, it was a fine –”

Molly rolled her eyes.

“No offense Uncle Garak, but shut up!”

He did.

“I know that you and dad and mum and Nerys and everyone think I’m a child, but I don’t need my ego massaged. I wasn’t fishing for compliments, I want you to help me do better!”

“Do better?”

“Can you teach me to sew? With a machine?”

“You mean you didn’t – Molly, are you telling me that you sewed that cloak by hand? I genuinely am impressed.”

“You mean you weren’t before?”

“My dear Molly, you would have made an excellent interrogator with your ability to rip my words from their context. Of course I will help teach you. I suppose you will need to acquire a sewing machine?”

She rolled her eyes.

“We _have_ one! It was grandma’s. She believed in doing things the old-fashioned way. And she didn’t trust replicators. She cooked _meat_!”

Garak thought of his mother in the kitchens of Tain’s town-house, expertly gutting the _pi_ _kek_ whose necks she had snappedmoments before.

“My word,” he said.

“So you’ll show me then?”

“Of course.”

“Now?”

Elim Garak had gone undercover on Romulus, faced Jem’Hadar battalions, and lived through the inferno that consumed his homeworld. Now, faced with the eager intensity of a fourteen-year-old with pink and purple hair, he found himself unaccountably at a loss.

“If you have nothing else to do,” he said. “For example, your algebra homework?”

Molly snorted.

“Did my dad tell you to say that?”

“I assure you he did not. I too believe that your education is important.”

“Well, it’s done.”

“Very well,” said Garak.

“If,” he continued, “your parents do not require you.”

Molly looked at him with skeptical amusement.

“Require me?”

Garak decided it would be best not to respond.

Miles and Keiko did not, in fact, require their daughter. Miles looked like he had planned to object to this impromptu sewing lesson, but Keiko had responded enthusiastically and Miles had remained silent.

“Can we use the library?” Molly asked.

“If you don’t make a mess,” Miles said.

“Daddy, we are sewing. We are not disassembling a warp core or making a soufflé.”

“Fine, fine. But I’ll have you know that there was never any mess when _I_ disassembled a warp core!”

Molly ran upstairs in a cloud of whirling limbs, and returned holding the handle of a heavy, antique machine awkwardly in both hands.

“Careful!” Miles and Keiko shouted simultaneously.

“I’m fine!” Molly cried back, and skidded to a halt at the foot of the stairs.

“Shall I take that?” Garak asked.

“I said I’m fine!” Molly retorted and staggered into the library.

Garak looked at Miles, who shrugged.

“My pupil awaits,” Garak said.

*

Molly proved an apt, if impatient student. She required only two tries to properly thread the machine, far less than Garak had needed when he first learned to sew. Of course, she did not have the distraction of waiting for Mila’s palm to descend on her at the first sign of error. It was sooner rather than later that Molly was sewing a more or less straight seam along the cloth.

Teaching was not something he had had much experience in. Tain had occasionally assigned him to show some new recruit the ropes, and of course there washis failed attempt to introduce Julian to the subtleties of Cardassian literature. But he had never really taught, and was surprised to find how much he enjoyed itHe was surprised at his own patience, at the satisfaction he felt as Molly’s seam became straighter and neater,and her expression moved from anxiety to pleasure and then to deep concentration.

“Very good indeed,” he said, and smiled. Then murmured, “careful!”

Molly seemed not to hear him, and her hand continued to drift perilously close to the needle

Garak reached out and grabbed her wrist.

Molly looked up, startled.

“You seemed distracted,” he said firmly. “And I think that pierced fingertips is too avant-garde a look even for a trendsetter such as yourself.”

Molly blushed and looked down.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Focus is life. Distraction is death,” Garak said.

Molly looked nervous.

“A maxim from my old employers,” Garak explained. “Somewhat hyperbolic in this case, I agree.”

He studied the girl for a moment.

“Is there something on your mind?” He said.

Molly said nothing.

Neither did Garak. He had always believed in the power of silence. In the Order, he had always scorned the interrogators who screamed threats, or sneered at their prisoners’ helplessness. He found that simply waiting was often more effective.

As it was here.

“Uncle Garak,” Molly said. “What happened on Deep Space Nine?”

Garak raised his browridges.

“It would take more than a hundred hours to tell you everything!” he said.

Molly shook her head.

“Not everything. Just...”

Garak waited.

“I mean, I remember some stuff. Leaving the station when the Dominion came. Coming back. And, like, stupid kid stuff.”

“Surely you covered the Dominion War in school?”

“A bit,” she said. “And I looked up more stuff. But it seems so unreal. Like it’s describing something that happened a thousand years ago. But the real stuff, what it was actually like, I can’t really remember! Especially stuff about Mum and Daddy. I know there’s stuff they’re not telling me. I have memories of things, and they don’t make sense, and when I ask they won’t really answer.”

Garak looked around. Somehow, the room seemed smaller than it had before.

“What sort of things?” he said.

“I remember Daddy went on a trip and came back strange. Angry. Later I think they said that he was sick, but then he got made better, but no-one told me what happened! And there was a time that they threw a party, and Mum was… weird. And there was this lady.”

“Lady?” Garak said.

“Yeah. We went for a picnic, I think. And I wandered off somewhere and got scared. And then this woman appeared and brought me back. I can’t really remember her, and my parents never talk about her.”

Garak looked at Molly. Her face had gone red, and her eyes shone with reflected light.

“They don’t talk about any of it! Not about the station, or the war, or anything!”

“It was a very hard time –” Garak began.

“I’m not a child!” Molly suddenly shouted. “I know everyone thinks I’m too young to understand, or it’ll upset me, or whatever. But I should know. Don’t I have a right to know?”

Garak looked around wildly. The ceiling felt like it was mere centimetres from his head.

 _Why do I feel like this?_ he thought.

And then he realized.

“ _Don’t I have a right to know?”_

_Elim Garak had asked the same thing, not much older than Molly, standing in Enabran Tain’s study. The spymaster had been seated at his desk, reading something on a PADD. He had looked up in surprise at the intrusion, then subjected the boy to a long, blank stare._

“ _You are my father, aren’t you?” Elim had said._

_Tain’s eyes had widened._

“ _What makes you ask that,” he had said, very calmly._

“ _It is obvious,” Elim had replied. “All the evidence is there.”_

_Tain had said nothing in reply._

“ _Well?” Elim had said eventually. “Don’t I have a right to know?”_

“ _Leave this room,” Tain had said, very softly._

Garak wondered what would have happened if he had refused. Perhaps the story of Elim Garak would have ended there. As it was, he turned on his heel and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.

Back then, he had certainly expected that he might well be killed even for what he had done. Instead, a few days later, he had been told he was going to be moving tothe Bamarran Academy, where his new life was to begin.

He closed his eyes. His breath was catching now, and he fought down the desire to rush out the door, hurl himself through the window, to escape the walls and ceiling that were about to fall together and crush him.

He breathed in, slowly, held his breath.

“ _It’s all right, Elim. You know you are safe.”_

Kelas’ voice, calm and soft in his mind.

“ _You’ve come through_ _worse, Garak dear,”_ Julian joined in.

“ _Always were a tough little bastard,”_ Mila said sardonically.

Garak exhaled, and opened his eyes. Molly was looking at him anxiously.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded, breathed in and out again.

“Yes, Molly. I am.”

She did not look convinced.

“Should I get mum?” she said.

“Not yet,” he said.He sat down on the window seat and studied Molly. She looked scared, but under the fear was still a remnant of the stubborn anger she had shown earlier. Elim Garak remembered being that age, remembered when knowledge seemed like a prize and not a burden.

“It may well be that you have a right to know,” he said. “But it’s not my place to tell you your parents’ secrets.”

Molly looked down.

“But,” Garak continued. “I can tell you other things. About the war. About Bajor. About what life was like on the station in those old, mad days.”

She looked up, the ghost of a smile on her face.

“Did you know your Auntie Nerys once pulled a spike out of Gul Dukat’s posterior?”

Molly’s mouth dropped open.

“Tell me EVERYTHING!” she said.

“All right in here?”

Miles O’Brien stuck his head around the library door.

“Absolutely,” Garak replied. “Your daughter is a natural tailor!”

Molly beamed.

“I’ve made cocoa” Miles said. “We’re going to drink it and watch twentieth-century films.”

“We’ll be there in a minute!” Molly said.

Miles vanished. Molly looked at Garak with an anxious expression.

“I am here for another three days,” Garak said. “There will be plenty of time for more sewing lessons. And more stories.”

Molly smiled, stood and dashed out of the room. Garak watched her bright hair fly behind her.

 _I_ _suppose_ , he thought, _if_ _we succeed, we will perhaps see purple-haired girls walking the streets of Cardassia._

He smiled at the thought, and followed her out of the room.

*

Miles hummed as he loaded the cups into the washer. The evening had, he admitted, gone surprisingly well. Molly had definitely enjoyed seeing “Uncle Garak,” and the movie had been fun. Garak had even managed to make what Miles knew to be the minimum possible number of sarcastic comments on it. As he closed the washer, his humming morphed into song.

> “…alas ’twas to no-one but me.  
>  And all I’ve done, for want of wit,  
>  To memory I can’t – ”

Miles stopped. A sudden prickling on the back of his neck, an indescribable change in the air made him turn. Garak was, once again, standing in the kitchen doorway.

“You sensed me very quickly,” he said. “Earlier than I expected. My old instructor would say you hold your space well.”

Miles felt his face flushing. Garak clearly noticed – he spread his hands placatingly and said,

“Forgive me for interrupting. But there is something I wanted to speak with you about. I would have spoken to Keiko too, but she seems to have gone back to her call.”

“Their paper is due in on Monday,” Miles said, automatically.

Garak nodded, and looked at him expectantly. Miles sighed inwardly, then gestured to the door.

“Let’s sit down,” he said.

When they were seated in the living room – Miles on the sofa, Garak in an armchair at a right angle to it – Garak steepled his hands and said:

“Molly is a very bright child.”

“She certainly is,” Miles said, wondering where the hell this was going.

“She had a lot of questions about life on DS9,” Garak went on.

Miles looked down at his hands, folded on his lap.

“It is very hard,” Garak said, “growing up without a clear sense of where you come from.” His voice was much gentler than Miles could ever remember it being.

“Molly knows where she comes from,” Miles said defensively. “She’s met my parents. And Keiko’s mother. She’s been to Dublin, and to Kumamoto.”

Garak shook his head slowly.

“I’m sure those were very valuable experiences,” he said. “But that is not really what I mean. Molly was born on a starship. She spent much of her childhood on Deep Space Nine. And she believes that much of what happened, to you and to her, in those years is being deliberately kept from her.”

Miles shifted, uncomfortably.

“It was a hard time,” he said. “For all of us.”

“You do not need to remind me of that,” Garak said. There was a glitter in his eye, and Miles could not tell if it was of anger or amusement.

“I grew up in a world of secrets,” Garak continued. “Everyone in my life was concealing something from me. My mother. My father. My State. So I learned to conceal as well. I became so good at it that it became my life. It has taken me many years to learn that there are certain times, certain places, certain people, where concealment is neither necessary nor desirable. It is a lesson I would hope Molly can learn much earlier.”

Miles opened his mouth to retort, and Garak held up a hand.

“I am not comparing you to Enabran Tain!” he said quickly. “Or even to my mother. Though I must say you and she share an aptitude for domestic organisation.”

He gave a thin smile. When Miles didn’t smile back, he resumed his serious tone.

“All I am saying is that secrecy begets secrecy, and trust begets trust. Molly wants to know who her parents are, and, by extension, to know who she is. And knowing what happened on DS9 is part of that.”

Miles said nothing. His mind was going back, running through the highlights – or maybe lowlights – of a period when the universe seemed to have decided that Miles O’Brien must suffer. Always first and foremost, of course, were the years that never happened in the Argrathi prison. There was Ee’char. No matter how many times he had told himself that Ee’char never existed, had just been a bundle of algorithms created to torment him, Miles couldn’t dismiss the feeling of a man’s life dissolving under his hands – the life of a man who was, as far as he had known, his only friend in all the world. And speaking of friends, there was that whole complex of emotion between him and Julian, Keiko and Kira…

Miles realised that Garak was waiting for him to say something. His face betrayed no impatience or expectation, though – it was as neutral an expression as a humanoid face could show. It was probably the same expression he wore in interrogations, Miles thought, and felt vaguely guilty for the notion.

“I’m not saying tell her _everything”_ Garak said, breaking the silence. “We are all entitled to our secrets.”

He raised an eye-ridge in a way that Miles could not help but find suggestive. Before he could fully register it, however, Garak was going on:

“But she needs to know something of those times. Not just the history, but what happened to _her_ , to you, to all of us.”

There was another silence. Miles looked down again and fiddled with the sleeve of his jumper.

_Am I really about to take parenting advice from a Cardassian spy?_

Even as he thought it, he knew the answer.

“We’ll talk to her,” he said.

Garak smiled and nodded.

“It’s just…” Miles groped for words. “It’s hard to remember she’s not so small anymore. Sometimes it feels like it was just a week ago that Worf delivered her, back on the _Enterprise_ bar.”

Garak raised his ridges.

“Truly _,”_ he said, “That young lady has had quite the childhood. And I must confess that I would very much like to hear that story myself.”

Miles smiled weakly.

“Absolutely,” he said. “Next time.”

Garak nodded.

“I really am grateful for your hospitality,” he said. “I have never been so happy to have someone break their word to me.”

Miles rolled his eyes. It was a joke Garak never missed an opportunity to make.

“Come on Chief,” Garak said, noticing. “You know that repetition is a fundamental staple of Cardassian aesthetics.”

Miles snorted, and Garak allowed himself a coy smile.

“But in all sincerity,” he said. “I truly am grateful. Being the Cardassian ambassador, it is not always easy to find genuine hospitality on this world. Suspicions still run deep. It is good to know there is at least one place where I will always be welcome.”

Miles nodded, mumbled something about it being nothing. Garak gracefully inclined his head. Then, suddenly, he slapped his knees with both hands and barked:

“Well!”

It was a gesture Miles had seen Julian do countless times; he wondered if the imitation was conscious.

“I shall not keep my driver waiting any longer,” he said. “I will just say goodnight to Keiko, and then take my leave. But I look forward to seeing you all soon.”

He stood and Miles struggled up to match him. On an instinct he didn’t fully understand, Miles held out his hand. Garak took it. His grip was cool and firm, and his palm was rougher than Miles had been expecting.

“Thank you,” Miles said.

Garak nodded. They held on for a moment more, then Garak disengaged, gave a sort of half-bow, and moved soundlessly through the door to Keiko’s study.

Miles sank back down onto the sofa, and closed his eyes. As the sound of Keiko and Garak’s farewells filtered in from the other room, his mind drifted back once again. This time, it came to rest on the party they’d held for Yoshi’s first birthday. Keiko and Kira on the sofa, hands lightly resting together, turning both their dazzling smiles on the baby. Molly proudly holding the card – poster, really – that she’d drawn for him. Julian’s eyes shining as he went over all the ways that the playset he had brought would stimulate Yoshi’s brain development. And the birthday boy himself, sitting on the floor, thoughtfully chewing on the foot of the dinosaur model Jake Sisko had given him.

He smiled. He wondered if Molly remembered that day, now. Perhaps that would be a good place to start.


End file.
